Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Good Morning, Grey Weather

November. Fog. Perhaps a pipe after lunch. It doesn't get any better. This season, as Lewis spake of its "brown solemnities", leans on me.


Bold September closes crisp and bright
To usher in a brilliant, woody breath
Which leaves October’s leaves beside themselves
In unction last, in blood red robes, in death.

by Evan Wilson


Halfgut said...

Just remember to move your hand or foot once in a while so others don't take you for a pile of burning leaves and try to put you out.
Good to see you a'bloggin'

Lauren said...

Such a bold, beautiful death though, don't you think? And an even more brilliant burial under the sparkling snow!


The Oracle said...

And the phrase "Rest in Peace" is past apt at the first full coverage snow.

transformed pork said...

How do you know if a poem is good?